


Till Death Due Us Part

by OhNylL



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Is Known, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, BAMF Lydia, BAMF Stiles, Banshee Lydia Martin, Con Artists, F/M, Fake Identities, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hermit Peter, M/M, Magic Is a Thing, Mates Might Be A Thing, Oblivious Stiles, Some Hetero Porn, Some Homo Porn, cross dressing, eventually, feelings are hard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 08:54:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8791372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNylL/pseuds/OhNylL
Summary: Faking names and taking money was about as easy as tying their shoes - until they realized they were wearing heels. 
Now, with only three weeks to come up with six millions dollars, or face serious jail time, Stiles and Lydia do the one thing they pretty much swore they would never do: Return to Beacon Hills. 
It's there, in the quaint hamlet they call their home town, that Lydia plans on executing their most daring heist yet - the estranged ex-Alpha, Peter Hale and his vast fortunes. But can Stiles keep his own emotions in line long enough for them to get their money and run?
----
Or, the Heartbreakers AU that literally no one asked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I am (not) sorry?
> 
> I know, I should tots be finishing old things before starting long and time consuming new things - but this is almost finished, so I decided to post it in a set of three. 
> 
> For those of you waiting for a Walk This Way update - it is coming _soon_ I promise. 
> 
> Un-Beta'd and mostly unedited. If you see any mistakes let me know so I can fix them.

The sound of wedding bells chimed through the streets of Manhattan, as a multitude of cars -mostly sleek sports cars and elegant high class vehicles- pulled up to the front stairs. Women in fine silks, and men in well tailored suits, stepped out of their cars and passed the keys to the valets without giving them a second glance. 

While the outside of the building hadn't been decorated; the inside of the church was modestly covered with rich red and orange ribbons along the pews and small bouquets of tiger lilies at the ends. A warm atmosphere to block out the cold chill of the early February air. At the altar, standing alone with the priest performing the ceremony, was a young and handsome blond -and though he held himself with an air of nonchalance, anyone who knew him could recognize the nervous twitch that shuddered through him every few moments.

The sound of an engine slowing to a stop made everyone quiet down and settle into their seats. A handful of minutes later the organ bellowed the first few notes of the Bridal Chorus and all the guests stood, facing the archway, and smiled brightly as the bride came into view. The groom stared down the aisle with a look of pure adoration, as she all but floated towards him -an elderly man in a sharp navy suit at her side. 

The bride returned the groom's' smile with a satisfied grin of her own. She moved with the knowledge that she owned the room. Her mermaid style dress clung just shy of scandalous to her abdomen, pushing her breasts up closer to her collarbone, and flared out just under the curve of her ass. Her hair was carefully perched on top of her head, hundreds of tiny gemstones glittered in the soft church light, and made her already brilliantly red hair shine like torch light -with small ringlets framing her face. Stepping up to the altar she turned and kissed the cheek of the old man, who simply smiled behind his tears,

"Your father would be so proud of you, my dear."

A soft whimper escaped her lips, "I...merci, Grandpère." He kissed her forehead and held her hand out for the groom to take, before going to find his seat in the front row -next to the empty seat that was reserved in memory of the bride's' father.

"You look lovely." Her groom whispered, smiling at her with bright eyes, as the priest started reading the traditional phrases.

"Thank you..." she blushed lightly, "you look handsome as well." 

The sound of someone clearing their throat, and chuckles from the audience, had them both turning red and apologizing. The priest raised an eyebrow, his feathers clearly ruffled,

"Do you, Jackson Alexander Whittemore take Chloé Elizabeth LaCroix as your lawfully wedded wife?"

Jackson grinned, "I do."

"And do you, Chloé Elizabeth LaCroix, take Jackson Alexander Whittemore as your lawfully wedded husband?"

She sighed dreamily, "Oui, I do."

The priest nodded, "Then by the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."

Cheers erupted from the crowd as Jackson wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close. She smiled up at him and tilted her head, slotting their mouths together in the picture perfect innocent wedding kiss.

 

\--

 

Music blared from the DJ booth, as everyone gathered either on the dance floor or around the open bar. While they hadn't put much effort into decorating the church, the reception hall was filled with decorations all matching the same bright and warm colours. Ice sculptures, which still stood tall despite the warmth of the hall, and fondue fountains covered each table. The food, though the traditional chicken or fish, had been prepared by five star chefs and had the guests talking about how they would never be able to eat the same again. 

Chloé had changed, after the cutting of the cake and first dance, into a more relaxed dress. It was still form fitting, showing all of her curves in their full glory, but it was shorter -coming just below her knees- and allowed for more freedom to dance with everyone else.

As the night wore on, Jackson made his way through the few dozen people who were still mingling on the dance floor, most of them weren't dancing anymore but Chloé still was. She had her arms around the shoulders of a tanned young man and had her head thrown back in laughter. Her green eyes sparkled as they met Jackson’s light blue ones, and she smiled,

"You have hilarious friends."

"Yeah, Danny can be a riot. Are you...almost ready to call it a night?" 

She caught on to his grin and returned it with a blush. Opening her mouth to answer, she was cut off by a couple of high pitched screams and suddenly they were surrounded by four young women,

"You have to come dance with us."

"I still can't believe you're married."

She looked at Jackson with a small smile, "Last dance, okay?"

Jackson, and Danny, chuckled softly at the scene and he nodded, "Alright. We'll be at our table when you're ready."

Chloé kissed his cheek and then let herself be dragged back into the pool of dancers, cheering as the DJ played a mashup of The Spice Girls and Christina Aguilera. 

Ten songs and six glasses of champagne further into the night, Chloé half stumbled over to where Jackson was sitting and crawled onto his lap. Nearly braining him with her heels in the process,

"I am so...sorry," she giggled, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along his jaw, "but I am ready now."

Jackson groaned softly, placing his hands on her hips and tilted his head, "No worries, babe, you looked like you were having fun. And that's what tonight is all about, you having fun."

She pulled back and smiled, "Well, let's go have some more fun together."

He grinned and kissed her, "I like that idea." Standing up, Jackson took her hand and lead her towards the door. Both of them ignored the hoots and whistles that followed them.

"Mmm, would it be too cliche if you carried me?"

"Not at all." Jackson smiled and scooped her up, chuckling at the shriek of amusement that bubbles up and filled the hotel lobby. 

Carefully he carried her towards the elevators, thankful that they had gone with the hotels reception room instead of the banquet hall a few streets down. It did make stumbling to their suite much easier. 

"Jackson, vite vite." She sung out in a soft voice, head on his shoulder, as she nipped at his earlobe. Jackson's steps faltered on the next move, and he groaned as he tried to stay upright and walking. Even with the renewed sense of urgency, he still had to come to a complete stop at the door. And fumble getting the keycard out of his wallet.

Only to have it denied.

Again.

And again.

And ag-

"Not so fast, baby, you need to go slow." She breathed into the shell of his ear, and licked. He shuddered and slide the keycard in the lock, slowly the red light turned green and the sound of the lock unlatching echoed down the hallway. With a grin Jackson shouldered the door open and carried Chloé over the threshold, "Oh mon dieu..." 

"Do you like it?" He asked, setting her carefully on her feet, and let the door swing shut behind them. She stepped further into the room and looked around. The walls, a soft butter yellow, were glowing gold in the flickering light of at least a dozen candles. The four poster bed was moved a little ways from the wall and the canopy was attached, the same rich burgundy as the satin sheets -which were covered in red and white rose petals.

"Oh Jax, I love it mon amour." She leaned back into his hold when he wrapped his arms around her waist and started dotting kisses on her throat, "Mm...wait, une minute, Jackson." She chuckled and stepped away in a spin that put Jackson between her and the bed. With a predatory grin she gave him a shove. He fell back on the bed with an amused glint in his eyes, that were soon clouded over with a passion filed lust as he watched her. She reached up and undid the clip in her hair, with a single shake the curls cascaded down her shoulders like liquid fire, before moving to unzip the back of her dress. 

Jackson could feel himself hardening with each second that passed, the tailored slacks giving little to no room for his erection to grow, especially when the deep green dress pooled around her feet and left her standing in a black and gold corset that hooked into matching garters. He shifted, both to ease the tightening of his pants and to get closer to the edge of the bed, and placed his hands on the smooth skin of her thighs, "God...why did we wait so long?"

She smiled and closed what little space was left between them by straddling his lap, "Because, you are," she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, "a true gentleman and respect both myself and my religion."

He kissed her nose, "I do. Now...let me show you just how much I respect you."

Chloé smiled, even though on the inside she mentally rolled her eyes, and moved with him further up the bed. Jackson rolled them over, so that he hovered over her, and kissed her. 

It started out chaste but quickly turned heated, tongues battled for dominance, and hands roamed over faces and necks -getting fingers caught in hair and clothing. Lifting just far enough to take a deep breath, Jackson started nipping his way down her throat, leaving small marks in his wake. He drank in all the quiet whimpers and soft sighs she was making greedily, smirking to himself as he bit on the exposed cleavage and she arched into the touch, moaning loudly. 

He nipped and licked his way to the dip between her breasts, nimble fingers coming up to undo the clasps at the top of the corset, and pressed his full erection against her thigh. 

With a pop, the clasps came undone and Chloé took in a deep breath, the dusty rose nubs poking out like they were reaching for Jackson's mouth -and he obliged. Hands sliding down her hips, he grabbed and kneaded her ass, as he took one of her nipples between his teeth. Chloé let out a sharp breath before a soft hum and shifted underneath him, rubbing her leg against his crotch. With a groan he rested his head between her breasts and let out a muffled groan,

"How do you want to do this, babe?" He asked, in between making a few more marks on her pale skin. A soft snort made him look up, "Oh no..." 

Quickly he sat up and shook her, gently, "Clo? Come on, don't do this to me...Chloé wake up." Jackson whined, palming his aching dick. 

Chloé let out another soft snort and rolled on to her side. She was out like a light.

Letting out a sigh, Jackson stood up and rebuckled the corset. Grabbing one of the silk robes he slipped it on her before tucking her in, "Sleep tight, babe, I'm going to have a cold shower." He kissed her forehead before slipping into the adjoined bathroom.

As soon as the door clicked shut and the water was running, Chloé got out of bed and retrieved her cell phone from her purse. 

It rang twice before someone picked up on the other end, "About time. I was worried you were actually going to fuck this one."

She rolled her eyes, "Not likely. Now I don't have much time before he's out, but everything is in place for tomorrow?"

"For the thousandth time, Lydia, everything is good to go. I even packed the deep blue dress like you said."

Lydia smiled, "Good," her smile dropped as the water cut off behind the door, "I have to get back to sleep. I'll see you in the morning, and Stiles?"

"Yeah Lyds?"

"Be careful."

"Always." 

She hung up and placed the phone back in her purse, slipping under the sheets just as the door opened and Jackson walked back in wearing only a towel. Objectively, as she watched him drop the towel and pull on a pair of black boxer-briefs, Jackson was attractive. Broad shoulders, hard abs, and his cock was slightly more than average. Lydia could see herself having married him -for real- and never have to lift a finger for the rest of her life. It was a nice thought, but not one she was wholly interested in.

The bed barely dipped, a testament to how amazing the mattress was, when Jackson finally crawled in and snuggled up behind her. He wrapped his right arm around her stomach and slid his left underneath his pillow. With a hum of approval, Lydia shifted back into his body heat and let herself drift fully to sleep.

 

\--

 

Stiles grunted as he dragged himself out of bed. The morning light bursting through the shitty motel curtains and blinding him as he tripped his way to the bathroom. 

Soon, he reminded himself as the ancient plumbing groaned to life, soon the job would be over and he wouldn't have to sleep on the equivalent of a deflated air mattress. 

Stepping into the rickety shower, he craned his neck to catch a glimpse of the alarm clock. 

6:15AM

Another groan. He couldn't wait until he could sleep until noon, either. But by now Jackson would also be getting up and ready to leave. Lydia had said she'd overheard Jackson and Danny talking about an important meeting that had been scheduled, last minute, Monday morning. Even though it gave the newlyweds plenty of time before they needed to be at the airport, Lydia had still pouted about it when Jackson confirmed by telling her himself. 

Turning off the water, Stiles stepped out and walked around the bedroom. The towels, like everything else in the motel, were shit and didn't even pretend to soak up any water -so air drying was the best option. 

Moving about he pulled open the closet door and sighed, loudly, through his nose at the short blue dress that hung in it. He had told Lydia he refused to doll up anymore, after the last husband nearly discovered he was, well, a man. She promised this would be the last time. After all, Jackson had a bit of a reputation and it wasn't built on how many men he had slept with.

Stiles grabbed the tape from his duffel bag and started getting ready. He didn't completely mind it, part of him got an extra little thrill from dressing like a woman and tricking newly wed men into cheating on whomever Lydia decided she wanted to be. Then, per usual, she would catch them and the following week divorced with a huge settlement to split between the two of them. The fun never stopped.

Ripping the tape, and sealing it, Stiles reached in and pulled out a pair of nude tights. No sense in wearing lace panties if Jackson was just going to see the tape beneath them. Pulling on the black lace, and then the tights, he inwardly whined. He was too tired for this today. Having stayed awake until nearly 4:30AM waiting for Lydia's call, he barely had an hour of sleep to work on. 

Shaking his head, he finished getting ready. It was almost seven and he needed to be in the office for 7:30. Bra next, pushing what little pectoral muscle he had into a believable A cup, then the dress; it slid on smoothly and he had to admit that he didn't look half bad in it, after he tucked his hair up into the long copper wig. He caught sight of the shoe choices he had, while applying his makeup, and winced. Stiles was already nearly as tall as Jackson so the black heels were out of the question, so were the heeled boots and sandals,

"Looks like I'm wearing the trusty flats." He grumbled, taking them out of the bag and shoved his feet in them. 

With ten minutes grace period, he threw his keys, phone, and lipstick -for touch ups of course- into a purse and left the room. 

 

\--

 

"Hailing a cab in Manhattan is nowhere near as easy as the movies make it look." He grumbled, walking into the shop fifteen minutes late.

"Don't worry about it, Stella," Danny chuckled as Stiles walked up to him, "Jackson isn't here yet."

Stiles raised an eyebrow, multiple scenarios of why Jackson was late running through his mind. They all started with Lydia killing him and Stiles having to hide the body. Danny clapped him on the shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts, "He got married last night, remember? He's probably recuperating." 

"Oh, right." He smiled and patted Danny's arm, "Hopefully he isn't too late. There's a meeting on the board for eight o'clock."

"We can hope." Danny nodded and left the office, walking down the stairs to the shop floor where the workers were busy stripping a handful of cars. 

Stiles had just sat at his desk when the door opened and Jackson strutted in, per usual. "Good morning Mr. Whittemore." Stiles smiled, with a wink,

Jackson tripped on the laminate flooring and eyed what he could see of Stiles, "Good morning Stella." He returned the smile with a grin of his own before stepping through the door into his personal office.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles grabbed a handful of papers and stuffed them in a file folder. He straightened his dress, mostly, before following behind Jackson's footsteps and closed the door, 

"Congratulations, on the marriage." 

Jackson looked up as Stiles made his way over, and leaned over Jackson's shoulders; placing his mirage breasts at direct eye level. Jackson cleared his throat and looked back at the papers on his desk, "Thank you, Stella."

Stiles hummed, dropping the folder on the desk with a heavy thud, and squeezed Jackson's shoulders, giving him a massage, "She must be a strong woman."

"What do, you mean?"

"I've heard stories, Jax, from Danny and the other guys...about all your women."

Jackson chuckled, "Ah, well she's made an honest man out of me."

"That's too bad," Stiles grinned, fingers pressing into Jackson's biceps, "I was hoping your bite would be worse than their bark." He breathed hotly on the blond’s ear, chuckling at the way Jackson tensed and then immediately relaxed.

"Oh really?" 

"Really, but such an honest man wouldn't want to spread his secretary over his desk and fuck her tight, wet, cunt until she's screaming for more." 

Jackson groaned, and Stiles could see the moment his resolve crumbled to dust and a lifelong habit of fucking and dumping crawled back to the surface. 

Grabbing Stiles' wrist, Jackson pulled him around with his left hand and swiped his desk clear of any papers with his right. Stiles hopped up on to the desk, sitting with his legs spread just enough for Jackson to slide between them -and that's just what he did.

Stiles had a brief flash of, oh shit he's going to find out, before he tilted his head back with a soft groan. Jackson nipped at the skin of his inner thigh, moving up and down Stiles' leg, before pushing up out of his chair and loomed over him, 

"Fuck, Stella," he groaned, pressing his denim clothed erection against Stiles taped back one. Strong hands roamed until they reached the curve of his ass and squeezed. Stiles let out an honest gasp, Jackson had nice hands -he would give Lydia that one, and thank her that he wasn't about to kiss a total slimeball- and pulled Jackson closer by the lapels of his blazer, "I'm going to fuck you so good, you'll be screaming my name for months."

Stiles shivered, "Go ahead and try."

Just as Jackson was pressing him further into the oak surface, and shoving his tongue in Stiles' mouth, the door opened with the sound of excited chatter,

"I know you have a meeting in ten minutes but I thought we could-" Lydia stopped just inside the doorway. From Stiles upside down perspective he could see years of acting classes paying off as her face flickered red hot in embarrassment and rage, "Jackson!"

Jackson froze, one hand on Stiles' ass the other on a breast, and slowly raised his head, "Clo, baby, I-"

"Nineteen hours, we have been married roughly nineteen hours and already you're slipping into something a little more comfortable."

"Chloé no, it's not-"

"Don't you dare tell me it's not what it looks like, Jackson. You're practically fucking her through your clothing." Ignoring Jackson’s cries of protest, she pulled the rings off of her finger, "Looks like we are over before we got a chance to begin. Grandpére told me this would happen...but I..." She let them drop to the floor, sniffling she hid her face behind freshly manicured nails and ran out of the room.

Jackson slumped back in his seat, resigned, like they all were whenever Lydia stormed in and broke the marriages off. Stiles shifted, tugging the skirt back down to an acceptable length, and sighed, 

"So do you..."

"No...Stella, you're fired. Go home."

He hopped off of the desk and retrieved the flat that he hadn't realized had fallen off, "Mm, for what it's worth, her loss." He winked and sashayed out of the office, shouting his goodbyes to a confused Danny.

 

\--

 

Sliding into his Jeep he pulled his cellphone out of the purse and pressed in Lydia's number, putting the device on speaker as he revved the engine and headed towards the downtown area,

"Kaffe 1668, half an hour." Lydia's clipped voice came through before the dial tone echoed in the small space.

Stiles rolled his eyes and turned down a side street. He pulled into an alley and rolled the Jeep to a stop and climbed into the back, where his spare clothes were located. Wasting no time at all he pulled off the tights and panties so he could get to the tape, letting out a sigh of relief as everything fell back into its proper place, 

"I am so sorry buddy," he whispered softly, giving himself an apologetic rub, pulling on loose fitting boxers and a pair of jeans with rips in the knees. He grabbed a white t-shirt from the floor and climbed back into the front seat. 

He dug a packet of makeup remover wipes from the glove compartment as he drove back onto the main road. Cleaning his face in the rear view mirror and merging back into morning traffic was alway an exercise in attentive peripheral vision. He only had four people honk their horns at him. This time. 

By the time he pulled up in front of Kaffe 1668, he looked and felt more like himself then he has half an hour ago. Sighing through his nose, he all but ripped the wig off of his head and ran his hand through his hair a couple of times before getting out of the Jeep.

Walking in the quaint cafe, he nodded to Lydia and stepped up to the counter. 

"What took you so long." She huffed, taking the offered frappuccino and blueberry scone.

Stiles shrugged, "I had to get changed." 

Lydia rolled her eyes, "We have more important things to discuss than if that shade of pink looked horrendous on you or not."

"I'm gay, not a drag queen."

"Some of your best friends are though."

"Sorry, I didn't pick up on Lady Gagless's flawless taste in lipstick."

"She wears liquid lip stain and you know it."

They traded glares for all of two seconds before they both peeled into fits of laughter. Taking a drink of his coffee, Stiles leaned back in the booth and looked out the window, "So what's the settlement going to be for this time?"

"I think," she hummed, tapping her nails on the varnished wood, "four million, the condo in Rio, and the Porsche."

"Man, that is a beautiful car."

Lydia nodded, "I know. And he treats it like a small child."

He held back the cackle and chuckled instead, "Have you called Kali yet?"

Another nod, "She is flying in on Thursday. The hearing is on Friday."

"She's getting quicker, unlike some people around here."

"Well she is nearly four months pregnant, and a werewolf, her cut off date for flying is fast approaching." She raised an eyebrow, "And what is that supposed to mean, exactly?"

"I'm just saying, it took you just over four months to get Jackson to propose. You had Greenberg in two." Stiles met her piercing stare with a blank expression of his own, slurping his coffee in a way that he knew annoyed her, and grinned when her eye ticked.

"Greenberg was also an actual idiot. The bigger the fish, the harder the catch."

"I just think you're starting to lose your touch. You're not twenty-five anymore."

She bristled, "I am not losing my touch."

He leaned forward, "Prove it."

"I will."

Stiles opened his mouth, ready with another snarky comeback, when his phone rang and Hungry Like the Wolf broke the tension between them, "Hey Scotty." He grinned into the phone, "Just having coffee with Lyds, what's up?"

Lydia rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat, picking at her scone and tapping a long message on her phone. The pay-as-you-go phone she bought four months ago pinged every few moments, but she ignored it. Nothing good would come of talking to Jackson now. She tuned back into Stiles just as he was saying his goodbyes and grinned at her, "...what is that look for?"

"Scott and Kira are finally going on their honeymoon. Kira's parents are flying them to Japan."

"Romantic." She dead panned,

"You know not everyone is anti-Happily Ever After, you know." He chuckled. 

She nodded and hummed in agreement, "Just us, right?"

"Exactly. Now, what do you want to do in prep for Friday?"

"Nothing. I have complete faith in whatever load of BS Kali comes up with on the plane. After all, what better lie to tell in front of one were lawyer than one that another crafted?"

"Do you think Jackson will have a werewolf lawyer?"

Lydia snorted, "Even if he wasn't a Whittemore, he still fronts a chop shop as a repossession business. Yes, I fully expect to see another werewolf in that room in three days."

Stiles shrugged, "I guess you have a point." He yawned, "So what are you going to do for the rest of the week?"

"What do you think? I'm going to stay in the hotel suite, watching the Notebook, and order everything off of the room service menu."

"Don't suppose I could join you..."

Lydia reached over and pet his hand, "Just one more week, Stiles, and then we'll be leaving this dump."

"I might not have a back left."

"Drama queen. You'll be fine."

Stiles let out a huff and broke off a piece of her scone, ignoring the way she cut her eyes at him and pulled the plate closer to herself, and lifted his mug, "Here's to the Jackson Five being almost over."

Lydia shook her head, glare easing into a fond smile as she clinked her glass against his and they both took a drink, "That was a horrible joke."

He gave her another shrug and grinned around the rim of his cup.

\--

 

By the time Thursday rolled around, true to both of their words, Lydia had racked up quite the impressive hotel bill which was charged to Jackson's credit card and Stiles sobbed in relief that he was able to finally pack up and leave the cardboard box motel he'd been holed up in for five months.

Kali had met them both for breakfast, glowing brightly in her pregnancy, and eagerly went over the case file with them. Severe emotional distress, from feeling as though she was used and lied to -only to have Jackson seek immediate solace in the arms of another woman when Chloé didn't stay awake to complete the marital bond. 

"So the usual." Stiles nodded, cutting into his waffles like a savage. 

Both women wrinkled their noses at him. Kali cleared her throat and nodded, "It might be the same story, but there is going to be a huge difference."

"Waz'hat?" He asked around a mouthful,

"Jackson's lawyer, like you thought, is a werewolf. While the marital bond is a key aspect, it's more of a formality for humans. A tradition, especially among religious humans -like the persona Chloé was." She paused to take a drink of her water, "The fact that Jackson committed an act of infidelity before the bond was completed, works against him on religious grounds. Too bad he wasn't an Alpha or Beta werewolf, we could have had him stripped of his status."

Stiles choked on a strawberry, "Seriously?"

Kali nodded, "Werewolves take commitment very seriously. It's part of our nature. I'm actually surprised that he didn't get himself a human lawyer, it's just going to be one more factor in our favour."

Lydia shrugged, "As long as we win and Jackson cries."

"Don't worry, we always do and so do they."

They clinked glasses, water and apple juice sloshing around and spilling over slightly on the table. Stiles paused mid drink and looked over at the she-wolf with a raised eyebrow and an expression of confusion,

"If werewolves are so pro-commitment and marriages for a lifetime...how come you're helping us in our particular line of work?"

"The pay is amazing." Kali grinned, a smile full of sharp, yet still human, teeth, "Not only that but Martha and I go way back, I'm Lydia's Godmother after all."

"Huh, did not know that. Cool."

"As far as Ennis is concerned though, Lydia's personas are all different people who tragically fall for the same traps."

Stiles nodded, "Fair enough." 

They clinked glasses again and finished their meals in relative silence. There was only a couple of hours left before the two women had to be at the courthouse, and though it wasn't going to take too long from start to finish, Stiles still needed to figure out what he was going to do with the rest of his morning. 

Stiles grabbed the bill when it came around, even though he whined a little at how expensive the breakfast was. "I think I'll just drive around and hang out at a mall." He hummed, slipping his wallet in his back pocket. Lydia nodded,

"Okay, I'll call you when we're done."

 

\--

 

Jackson looked, to be frank, like shit and it had only been a few days. His hair was unstyled, and Lydia would wager her entire settlement that it was unwashed too -if the way it cowlicked and stuck out when he ran his hand through it was an indicator. 

He tried to smile at her, as she and Kali sat across the mahogany table from himself and his lawyer -an old friend of his dad's by the name of Deucalion- but it didn't reach his eyes and pulled the bags underneath them taught, like tar being spread on a paved road. Lydia, or Chloé she supposed, didn't even attempt to return the gesture. Instead she leaned in closer to Kali, keeping her eyes low and her heartbeat slightly erratic from nerves. 

Deucalion regarded them both with an air of amused intrigue and for a brief moment Lydia thought he had seen through them, "Good afternoon, Ladies."

Kali gave him a smile that was all teeth and danced the line of baffled disappointment and professionalism, "Duke, how wonderful to see you." She said through gritted teeth.

"It's always a pleasure, how's Ennis and the baby?"

"Ennis is doing fine, and so is the baby."

"You must be coming due soon."

"Four months."

Deucalion hummed pleasantly and nodded in response, ignoring the clipped tone of Kali's voice. He flipped open the folder on the table between himself and Jackson and skimmed the top page, "Only been married less than a week and already seeking a divorce."

"Maybe if he had remained as faithful after vows had been exchanged as he had before, we wouldn't be sitting here right now." Kali snipped back. 

"Perhaps. How does your client know he was being faithful before the wedding, after all she was aware of my clients...shall we call them hobbies, or indulgences?"

Jackson sputtered, "You're supposed to be defending me not-"

"That sounds...like you were..." Lydia sniffled into her gloved hand, a tear slipped down from behind her sunglasses, "Y-you've been lying this whole time!"

"Wha-no! Chloé I swear I didn't-"

"Jackson, I must advise you to stop talking," Deucalion sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "What are the full allegations of the matter?"

Kali rolled her eyes, "If you had bothered to read the document before, you would know. Compensation for time lost, as well as emotional and mental distraught." 

"And this is all she is asking for?"

"He's not a werewolf, there's nothing more to file for." 

Deucalion frowned, but nodded in agreement, "Well, given the circumstances and witness evidence of the infidelity, we agree to these terms."

"What! Just- just like that!? You won't even try to bargain them down!" 

"Jackson," Deucalion spoke slow, as though he was addressing a tantrum throwing toddler, "This is the less humiliating way to go about it. Also, by meeting all three requests, Chloé will sign an affidavit agreeing to not go public with your, repossession business."

Jackson leaned back in the leather seat, arms crossed over his chest, and pouted like a small child, "Whatever," he sighed, "where do I fucking sign."

Kali slid the documents she had over and he signed both lines and initialed a few boxes before both sets were passed up Lydia and she did the same.

Standing up Jackson handed over the keys to the Porche, all the while looking like he was about to break out into tears. Kali took them from his outstretched hand, smiling pleasantly, "Next time you're divorced over infidelity, don't hire a werewolf for your lawyer."

 

\--

 

While Lydia was at the settlement, trying to get their paycheque, Stiles drove around the island for a little while before pulling into a Starbucks parking lot. He sat there for a moment, watching people walk in and out of the large glass doors, a slight frown on his face as he lost himself in thought. Trying to figure out where they were going to hit next. 

There were so many cities, and towns, in America that were full of wealthy citizens and even more so that had a pleasant amount of single, wealthy, citizens with their hands in shady under-the-table businesses. Like Jackson and his chop shop. The only problem was that he and Lydia had already blown through so many of them in the last five years, they were starting to miss out on the winning losers. 

Stiles hummed as he got out of his Jeep and went inside the cafe, tapping his phone to his chin as he pretended to contemplate the menu. They could, he supposed, make their way through the Florida Keys again. He'd read in a magazine that Louis Vardenchi -Lydia's second husband whom she played the role of Miss Denise Sutherland; a southern bell going to university in the summer state - had passed away. The man had been old when they'd first met him. Old, insanely rich, and one of the biggest perverts Stiles had ever met. 

“Grande chai latte made with coconut milk with two shots of espresso, shot of hazelnut, and some nutmeg.” Stiles rattled off as he dug his wallet out of his back pocket. Tapping his debit card on the machine, he stepped off to the side and sighed softly. 

Lydia wouldn't agree to it. As confident as she was in her skills in acting and disguising, she was extremely paranoid of the off chance someone would recognize her and ruin her cover. 

“Sir?”

Stiles blinked and looked over at the barista, probably a student working a shift between study breaks by the looks - he remembered those days and couldn't honestly say he missed them, “Yeah?”

“Your card was declined.” The poor girl looked more embarrassed for Stiles then he could bring himself to feel. Instead he chuckled softly and pulled a ten dollar bill out of his wallet,

“That's embarrassing, and I only just used it to fill up my jeep. Guess I should start paying more attention.” He handed her the bill and waved off the change when she tried to hand it to him with his drink. 

Stiles sat at a stool in front of the window, overlooking the parking lot, and continued to watch people as he tried to solve the puzzle in his head. Trying to figure out where would hold the easiest targets. He hadn't been completely lying when he told Lydia she was losing her touch. Sure she was still a goddess among mortals - and held herself as such, her presence dominating every room she walked into - and had men dropping everything for her with a flip of her hair; but they weren't twenty-five anymore. They weren't fresh out of grad school with less job opportunities before they started, high off cheap marijuana and drunk off even cheaper wine -watching grainy porn off pirated WiFi. They were just on the cusp of thirty for crying out loud. All their friends were married, for realsies, with kids and dogs and picket white fences. Stiles tried to think of what his parents would say if they could see him now…

It was depressing.

He took a drink, smiling softly at a young couple across the street - small child laughing between them as they swung their arms, and lifted the kid off of the ground. It wasn't that Stiles was anti-happiness, neither was Lydia despite what kind of argument she would come up with, but he wasn't the biggest fan of love. He had seen what it looked like at its best, his parents had been the picture perfect storybook ending -that turned into a horror story the very next page. 

Claudia had been the life force of Stiles’ father. All kind smiles and teasing laughs. She hadn't been a tall woman but she was slender; with long caramel hair that came down in waves over her shoulders amber-whisky eyes that shone with mischief and love. Stiles had seen how much his parents loved each other, even when they argued it was never long lasting and never in front of him. He had seen the beauty in what they had and hoped that one day he would be able to find someone who looked at him with the same adoration that his parents looked at each other - ten years after they were married.

Then, at ten years old, he witnessed how horrible that kind of love was. When his mother died slowly, from dementia, as her body shut down and her mind faded. The smiles disappeared and the light in her eyes dimmed. Stiles had front row seats to the shattered shell of a man his father became and - even though they worked together and where there for each other through the hardest times - remained up until his own death during Stiles senior year of undergrad. 

Even though it had been in the line of duty, Stiles was sure the underlying factor was terminal heartbreak. 

Lydia's parents, though still alive, may as well be dead to her. Postcard perfect to the outside: large fancy house in the suburbs, manicured lawns and fast cars. She had been raised a princess and treated like one by everyone around her. Until she was sixteen and her parents divorced, asking her to chose who she would rather live with. The father who was mentally and emotionally abusive and loved his job, and secretary, more than his wife and child - or the mother who let herself be put through it all for the sake of her image, for twenty-three years. 

Her mother kept the house, kept all the material items, and got to keep Lydia - her most prized possession - until the, then, seventeen year old had graduated high school and moved across the country for college. 

They haven't spoken since.

_History will hate us, but they'll never forget our names_

Stiles jumped slightly, stool scraping across the floor, as Lolo started belting out of his pocket. Ignoring the looks from people around him, he answered his phone, “Hey Lyds, what's up?”

“We're done. Money is being sent over from the law firm.”

Stiles whistled, “Never not impressed by how fast they work.”

“Mmmhm, meet me at the bank and we'll transfer funds around.” She sounded unfazed, but Stiles could hear the excitement thrumming underneath Lydia's cool tone.

“See you there.” He nodded into his phone as he hung up.

Downing the last couple mouthfuls of his latte he stood up and made his way out the door, throwing the cup in the garbage bin along the way. 

 

\--

 

Stiles pulled up in front of the bank half an hour. There might be a hundred banks in New York - but Lydia had opened an account with The Bank of New York. The history minor of her heart getting a secret thrill out of it. 

When he stepped out of the jeep, Lydia was standing on the steps, flicking through her phone, and waiting for him. She didn't even bother to look up when he approached her, 

“Took you long enough.”

“Traffic.” He shrugged, “Ready?”

“As always.” She smiled and hooked their arms together.

Once they were inside the bank, and had told the teller that they had an appointment with one of the bank managers, Stiles couldn't remember his name, the time went by at a decent speed. It seemed like they had only just sat in the overly plush chairs and Lydia had picked up a Vogue magazine, before the man was showing them to his office.

“So what can I help you with this morning?”

Lydia pulled out her chequebook, “I just want to move some money around, cover the mortgage, loan payments - that sort thing.”

“Of course.” He smiled a little too pleasantly. Stiles shifted in his seat, suddenly uncomfortable in the rather spacious room. Lydia, for her part, either didn't notice or was pretending not to notice the change in atmosphere. 

Lydia passed him both the lawyers cheque and her personal one for the transfer. He took them both and started typing and clicking away at his computer,

“I'm afraid I can't deposit this cheque or make the transfer.” 

“Why not?” Her tone was sharp, pleasantries starting to fade,

“Because-”

“Because Ms. Martin, Mr. Stilinski, your assets have been frozen and your money has been ceased.” They turned at the new voice. A tall, dark skinned woman stood in the doorway. Her suit was sharp, matching her tone as she walked in and closed the door, 

“Who are you and what right do you have to-”

“Ms. Martin,” she interrupted, “My name is Morrell, and I am with the SIRIS.” 

Stiles ran a hand through his hair, “I don't suppose you're here to-”

“I'm here, Mr. Stilinski, to take you both in for tax evasion and impersonation.”

“It's not impersonation if the people don't exist to begin with.”

“Oh? Then about extortion and fraud?” She smiled coldly, Stiles sunk back in his seat while grumbling to himself.

Lydia stood to face Morrell, “What's the fine?”

“Six million.”

“Here, let me write you a cheque.”

Morrell shook her head, “On top of what we have already emptied from your bank accounts.”

Lydia bristled, “Fine. We will get you your money.”

“Uh Lydia, how?”

She turned to Stiles, face full of emotion before she schooled it into a blank slate, “We are going home.”

 

\--

 

“I can't believe we are actually going back.” Stiles sighed as he stood in front of the window, looking out at the Manhattan skyline. Lydia puttered around in the living room, behind him, putting photos and other odds and ends in boxes,

“I know. It's not like we have much of a choice though.”

Stiles snorted, “No. We don't do we.”

“Don't get snippy with me.”

“Don't get - don't get snippy?” He turned around, eyes narrowed as he met her defensive glare, “You are the one who said everything was handled. You are the one who had everything so meticulously planned so we wouldn't get caught. You are also the one who had to register each persona through the Supernatural IRS and then decided not to pay taxes!” He ran a hand through his hair, “I think I'm entitled to being a little bit fucking snippy.”

“It’s not that bad, Stiles! Besides, I’m a Banshee, I have to register!”

“Then you should have fucking lied! They don’t screen that shit, takes too long.” Stiles skin itched, and he turned around to stare out the window as he got his breathing under control. Lydia sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. Both of them refusing to give in to the other. “I don’t want to go back there, Lyds…”

Lydia nodded, “Me either but…” she stood up and walked over, wrapping her arms around his waist, “It won’t be...horrible. I mean, besides the fact that we would have to be ourselves…We would be able to stay at my mother's, so no more cheap hotel rooms, and Scott and Kira are traveling Japan and South Korea for the next month and a half…so we won’t have to worry about them worrying about us.”

“I know...just,” Stiles shook his head, eyes tracking a plane flying overhead, “I haven’t been back since my dad’s funeral.”

“Our first stop will be to see him then.”

He shook his head, “I want to see him alone.” Really he just didn’t want Lydia to see him break down as he sat between his parents’ headstones with a bottle of whiskey on one side of him and a bottle of wine on the other. 

“We should get some sleep. We have to be at the airport for eleven tomorrow morning.”

Stiles nodded and pushed off the glass, his hands covering hers as he kept her arms around him and shuffled over to the king sized bed. Laying down, Lydia moved up so that her knees fit behind his and rubbed her face between his shoulders, 

“I love you, and I’m sorry.” She whispered,

“I know.” He sighed back.

 

\--

 

It was loud. 

It was ten o’clock in the morning. In the middle of JFK. And it was fucking loud.

It also wasn’t the first time they’d been in the international airport, but they also usually drove from destination to destination; taking in the sites and just in general enjoying life and all that they could do with their money. 

The first time, and probably only time in either of their recent memories, they had been in JFK was when they first came to New York. Getting off the plane, fresh faces with their hopes and dreams in front of them. Too enraptured with the fact that they survived high school and made it out of the small town. It might have been loud then, but they didn’t notice in the light of their new life.

“At least there don’t seem to be any small children or animals on our flight.”

“Six hours of hell.” Stiles grumbled, letting his bag fall on the conveyor belt. 

“It was either straight there or four layovers all over the country.” Lydia huffed, hands on her hips and foot tapping against the tiled floor. 

“I would have rather the layovers.” He huffed, turning to face her and started walking towards the gate. Lydia rolled her eyes and followed after him, purse sitting comfortably on her shoulder. She let her sunglasses fall back down her face and pushed them up her nose, 

“I know. We both want to delay it, but there is no point in putting it off longer than we have to. Band-aid Stiles, band-aid.”

Stiles shook his head and sat in the waiting area, watching and waiting for the announcement that they could board their flight. The sooner, he knew, they got to Beacon Hills, the better it was going to be all around. He looked over at Lydia, sitting next to him in her tight blue skirt and white blouse, looking all the world like nothing was wrong and it was hers to conquer. Like she had everything figured out,

“Have you put any thought into who your target is going to be?”

Lydia nodded, pulling a brown manila envelope out of her purse, “Peter Hale.”

Stiles frowned, “Lyds, the Hales are werewolves, do you think that’s a good idea?”

She smiled, lips tight, “I am well aware. I also know that recluse Peter Hale is the single most wealthiest bachelor in the entire West Coast - aside from his nephew, and only living relative, Derek.”

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea to try and con a fucking werewolf.” He hissed, keeping his voice low as more people gathered around the gate. Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder and all but shrugged Stiles’ concern off, 

“He’s a werewolf that was stripped of his Alpha status for reasons not recorded anywhere. He stays locked in his mansion all day, with vaults full of bearer bonds and insurance policies from when the rest of the Hale clan, except one niece and nephew, died in a house fire; almost twenty years ago.”

Stiles nodded, he knew about the fire. His father had only been a Deputy at the time, but he remembered sitting at his father’s desk one afternoon - having been taken out of school for letting out the chicks that the grade one class had been raising - and saw Laura and Derek Hale in the Sheriff’s office. “You’ve done your research. How am I supposed to help? Slip some aconite in his fucking tea?”

“No, my dear.” She chuckled, ignoring the looks that the woman seated on the other side of Stiles was giving them.

_Now boarding, Flight 453 New York City, New York, to Beacon Hills, California. All passengers please report to Gate 6._

Stiles’ eyebrow threatened to join his hairline as they stood and made their way through the gate, shuffling along beside the other disgruntled passengers of a six hour flight. Once they were seated, and Lydia pulled out her iPad, Stiles turned to look at her, “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me before we take off?”

“It’s a coffee and scone type of conversation.” She hummed in agreement, smiling at him as she put her noise-cancelling headphones on. Stiles rolled his eyes at her, adjusted his neck pillow, and settled in for the ride.

 

\--

 

The plane landed just after two o’clock pacific time. Stiles yawned as he cracked his neck, bones stiffer than when he was sleeping on the old worn out mattress in the hotel. As much as he didn’t want to be back in Beacon Hills, he couldn’t wait to sleep on a real bed.

Lydia hooked her arm around Stiles’ and leaned her head on his shoulder, “I’m thinking coffee and then Mom’s.”

“You mean she didn’t send a car to pick us up?”

“Of course she did.” She chuckled, “But I need caffeine.” Stiles nodded and followed her out, grabbing their suitcases and pulling them along behind them as they made their way over to a large, black, SUV with an elderly man standing beside it. The man stood up straighter when he saw them and smiled,

“Ms. Martin, so wonderful to see you again.”

Lydia returned the smile and gave the man a gentle hug, “It’s wonderful to see you again too, Max.” As he turned to open the trunk, Stiles looked at Lydia - his expression asking her how the chauffeur was still alive. Lydia simply shrugged as she handed her suitcase over to Max; to be loaded into the vehicle.

“Starbucks and then the Martin Manor, Jeeves.”

“Pleasure to see you again too, Mr. Stilinski.” Max deadpanned, though his facial expression was unamused there was a glimmer in his eye that told the two that he did in fact miss their antics - no matter how much he was going to deny it.

The drive was silent, both of them lost in their thoughts. Stiles was nervous. He was certain that Lydia had thought of all her options. Beacon Hills was full of the insanely old and obscenely rich. It was where millionaires had their summer cottages and CEO’s came to retire. The younger generation was slowly growing and moving out of the small town, though there were always those that remained. It seemed to be how small towns worked; either you left and never came back or you never moved. Stiles shook his head, looking over at Lydia as she stared out the tinted window, the point he had been trying to reach was that there were plenty of people that Lydia could have chosen and gotten the amount of money they needed - and then some - instead she decided she wanted to test their luck with a werewolf. With only three months to come up with the money before Morrell came back for them, this time with handcuffs, Stiles wasn’t so sure it was worth the risk.

Lydia rolled the divider down low enough to see Max over the blacked out Plexiglas, “Skip the coffee, Max, let’s just get to my mother’s.” Max nodded as the screen rolled back up. Lydia turned to Stiles and smiled, “I’m exhausted. I just want to lay down in a bed.”

“I might go…”

She placed a hand on his knee and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You should. Max can drop you off, if you’d like.”

Stiles shook his head, “Nah, I’ll walk. Take that shortcut through the Preserve.”

“You mean that deathtrap. It’s probably completely overgrown by now.”

“Only one way to find out.” He grinned. 

Lydia rolled her eyes in exasperation, but her smile was fond, as the car pulled up to the front of the Martin home. 

It was just as they remembered it, immaculately kept lawn, flower beds, and decorative topiary lined the driveway that lead up to the front door before circling around a large fountain and lead back to the road. The ivy that grew along the white-stone face of the manor had spread over the years, though it was trimmed back to keep from breaking the eves, and sprawled elegantly off the side of the building and latched onto the marble columns that lined the red brick veranda. 

Mrs. Martin was standing on the veranda, waiting for them, as Max slowed the car to a stop before getting out and going around to open the door for Lydia and Stiles. Lydia slipped out and walked the few steps between them and gave her mother a tight hug. Stiles stood by awkwardly and gave the woman a hug when she turned to them, a bright smile on her face,

“Look at you two…” She sighed happily, looking them up and down, “Well come in.” She turned towards the door, Lydia following her. 

Stiles rubbed the back of his neck, “Ah… I’ll be back, I have…somewhere to be.”

Mrs. Martin turned to him and nodded, a knowing expression on her face, “Dinner will be ready in two hours.”

Stiles grinned, “Thanks Mrs. M. I’ll be back by then.”

He waved them off before darting back down the stairs and towards the car. Max caught his gaze and smiled, “Where too, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles shook his head, “Don't worry about, I'm going to walk.”

The elderly man nodded and placed a hand on Stiles shoulder, “If you would like me to come and pick you up, just give a ring.”

“Thanks Jeeves.” He grinned, patting Max's hand before making his way across the lawn and over the low, stone, fence that made up the property line between the length of the suburbs and the preserve.

The afternoon was brisk, much warmer than the chill early spring air that blew into Manhattan, but still cooler than Stiles was expecting it to be. He kept his hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie and picked up his pace to keep warm, head down to ensure that he didn’t trip on any uprooted trees, or rocks; or his own feet..

“This is private property.”

The gruff voice startled Stiles out of his thoughts and he let out a high pitched noise, that he would later deny, as he tripped on his own foot and fell. Pushing himself up onto his knees, Stiles looked around for the source of the noise and gawked slightly at the man he found standing there. Six foot with shoulders and muscles that put even Danny's to shame, the dark haired man stepped closer and Stiles was able to make out a faint stubble of beard and green eyes, “I said-”

“I heard you,” Stiles snipped, trying to get his heart back under control, “But since when has the preserve been private? There are jogging trails all over the place.” Even the high school track and field team used the paths - sometimes alongside the lacrosse team.

Hot Shoulders raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest pulling taught the stretchy material of his white tank top, “You aren't in the preserve. This is Hale land.”


End file.
